Domestic (Deborah Landau)

I like this poem by Deborah Landau. The plainness of the words coupled with their subject strikes me as very suburban. So maybe this poem is limiting in that domesticity occurs in other places outside of green lawned suburbs. But then again, in comparing domestic life to a play (set roles and everyone reading from a script), she is pushing against the conformity often found in a suburban life. If everyone is acting, then at some time the domesticity must come to an end. Something must change. I wish the poem had gone on to talk a bit about that jolt. Perhaps others of hers do.

I also like that as I read this, I kept picturing a cuckoo clock's figurines turning and maneuvering in planned and pleasing ways.

Favorite line: "Life accumulates, a series of commas, / first this, then that, then him, then here. / A clump of matter (paragraph) / and here we are: minutes, years."